


Night Night Emporium

by grapehyasynth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, mattress store au, maybe a lil plot if you squint, zero angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 00:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7410454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma's just started working part-time at a mattress store and there's already a man trying to sleep on one of the beds. That's obviously not allowed. Except... he's sweet, and has a good reason to sleep, and he's kind of cute, and suddenly he's a regular customer. </p><p>Idk. Not much plot. Just cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Night Emporium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chinesebakery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/gifts).



On Jemma’s first afternoon at the Night Night Emporium, there’s already a man curled up on a mattress in the front of the store -- just laying there, no pillow, no sheets, just his cardigan snugged up over his hands and around his neck. At least he had the courtesy to take his shoes off.

She scrunches her nose and vacillates by the cash register. Technically he’s not supposed to do that unless he’s intending to buy the mattress, but he could be homeless and she really doesn’t want to kick him out. What harm could a little nap do?

But it’s her first day, after all, and if her manager sees her setting a precedent of letting little infractions slide, he might be inclined to rescind the job offer.

So she sighs and slips her employee lanyard around her neck and scurries through the rows of mattresses --  _ Bigger! Better! Fluffier!  _ \-- until she’s reached the occupied one.

She coughs.

There’s no reaction. From here, she can see he can’t be much older than she is, though there are rather intense lines on his forehead, even as he sleeps. Because it’s now apparent that he’s well and truly  _ asleep _ , not just testing the mattress’s bounce and cushion (industry terms).

She leans tentatively over, wondering whether this could be considered assaulting a customer, and prods his arm.

“Whassat?!” he mumbles, rolling onto his back so he looks a bit like an upended beetle. He sees her hovering there and shields his eyes with one hand against the sunlight coming through the storefront behind her. “Who are you?” 

“Jemma Simmons,” she answers automatically, though of course that means nothing to him, so she adds quickly, “I work here. Whereas you are either breaking store policy or trespassing.”

“No, no, no,” he says, sitting up, and as he lets his hand drop she gets a first glimpse of how very  _ blue  _ his eyes are, especially against the sea of white mattresses. “Where’s Hunter? Hunter always lets me sleep here--”

“As I understood it, Lance Hunter was let go for perpetual tardiness,” she says coolly, crossing her arms.

“And you’re the new help?” He looks her up and down, frowning, and she’s not sure whether to blush or bristle.

“Yes, I am! Though it’s only part-time, I’ve got heaps of student debt, but--” She clamps her mouth shut. The manager’s already had to remind her twice to not talk so much. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The man sighs and rubs a hand over his face. He needs a shave -- well, Jemma supposes it depends on his employment, if he has any. Not that his fine blonde stubble is unpleasant to look at -- quite the contrary -- but the collared shirt and crooked tie he’s wearing under his cardigan suggest he belongs in some office where they’d frown on a five-o’clock-shadow.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, scooting to the edge of the mattress. She steps back to let him reach for his shoes. “It’s just -- I don’t know if you can imagine what it’s like to be an introvert working in a company full of high-powered type-A macho men -- by 10AM I’m exhausted and there’s nowhere I can go to recharge and Hunter used to let me just nap here during my lunch break -- But I’ve overstayed my welcome--”

Jemma feels instantly guilty because she can imagine  _ exactly  _ what that feels like, having worked in several labs with that sort of atmosphere. She adjusts her glasses -- which she doesn’t need but which she’s taken to wearing to look older and smarter, since people won’t take her seriously -- and watches the man tie his shoes.

“...And I’m not getting much sleep at home as it is because my friend turned me on to  _ Doctor Who  _ and I can’t seem to stop watching it and before you know it it’s 3AM...”

“For an introvert you talk a lot,” Jemma blurts out.

“Oh,” he says lamely, looking up at her, shoelaces pulled taut in his hands.

“That’s a -- that’s a compliment,” she adds. “And really, you’re only just watching  _ Doctor Who  _ now? How old are you -- twenty-four?” It’s a blatant underestimation but flattery will get you places.

“Twenty-seven,” he corrects, finishing up and straightening, cracking his neck gingerly. “And I’ve been a bit busy getting a PhD, alright?”

She decides not to tell him she’s managed to watch the original  _ Who  _ as well as the revival and still get two PhDs. People don’t seem to enjoy their insufficiencies as much as she does.

She glances nervously at the door to her manager’s office, chews her lip, and then decides.

“Alright, you can nap here, but on three conditions: shoes off, no drooling, and the second my manager or another customer appears, you have to sit up and pretend to be testing out the mattress.”

He looks up at her with wide puppy eyes. “Really?”

“Yes. But if you get me fired--” She shakes a finger at him but has no real threats to offer, so she just spins on her heel and stalks off towards the desk. 

“I can’t very well stop myself from drooling!” he calls after her.

“Try!” she shoots back.

“How am I supposed to know when to wake up?”

Jemma stops, sighs, turns, and walks back. She stands in front of him, hands on her hips, as he looks up at her all innocent. “Set an alarm.”

“Well, obviously, but I mean how will I know that your manager’s come out? I’m not a very light sleeper.”

There’s only one solution Jemma can see, and if she kicks him out now she’ll feel twice as guilty as she did before she’d gotten his hopes up. So she shakes her head and takes a seat on the mattress across from his.

“What’re you doing?” he frowns.

“I’ll keep watch,” she explains. “If anyone comes I’ll just smack you awake.”

He winces dramatically. “Is that really necessary?”

“Let’s just remember who’s doing whom a favor here.” But she smiles to let him know she’s teasing.

He grins a little and curls back up, his back to her.

She waits until his breathing has slowed before whispering, “Hey!”

“What?”

“I don’t know your name.”

“Fitz.”

“Hi, Fitz.”

“Can I sleep now?”

“Yes, of course.” She sits back, hands folded primly.

After a minute he says, voice muffled, “Don’t ogle my bum, okay?”

She giggles, because of course now there’s nothing else she wants to do but ogle his bum. It’s his own fault, really.

She feels a bit like she’s babysitting, but she’d just be staring at the ceiling fans otherwise. At least now there’s a bit of danger to the proceeding.

Her manager never appears, and when Fitz’s watch alarm goes off, Jemma quickly pretends she hasn’t been watching the curve of his spine the whole time. He slips on his shoes, thanks her and heads back to work.

All-in-all, it’s not a bad start to the job. 

  
  
  
  
  


Fortunately, Jemma’s manager doesn’t seem to realize that it’s a bit unusual for a mattress store to have a regular. Fitz is back every time at noon, already sheepishly holding his shoes in one hand as Jemma lets him into the store. Any time the manager passes through, Jemma will quickly poke Fitz awake and he’ll nod, wide-eyed, as she excitedly explains the features of a particular mattress. They make sure to shift to a different part of the store every day to increase the deception.

“What kind of store name is Night Night Emporium anyway?” he muses one day. “That spells NNE -- like,  [ ‘We are the knights who say NNE!’ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bIV4KLCmJ98) ”

Jemma laughs out loud and her manager’s head whips around. “Mattresses are not a funny business!” he calls, waving a clipboard at her.

“Hey, Jemma,” Fitz whispers conspiratorially on another day as he bounces on a queen-size, “Do you ever jump on these? When no one’s around?”

“Of course not! That would be wildly unsafe and professional.”

“And fun,” Fitz grins, wiggling on the edge of the mattress. She almost tells him that his jeans will leave an arse-mark but he’s too damn cute. “Admit it, Jemma. It’d be so much fun.”

“When  _ you  _ own the mattress store, you can jump all day long,” she says firmly, and he lets it drop, but that night she goes home and jumps on her bed for a few minutes. She feels a bit silly at first but then an exhilarating giddiness takes over her and she nearly falls off the bed in a fit of giggles. Right genius, that Fitz is.  
  
  
  


 

When he tells her he’s caught up on  _ Doctor Who  _ he looks quite gloomy.

“You can always watch it again,” she suggests.

“It’s not that.” He sighs and rubs his neck. “I thought when I finished I’d finally be able to sleep. I’m still exhausted all the time, I still can’t sleep at night, whether I go to bed at 10 or 4. I think I need a new mattress.”

She lets her jaw drop dramatically and stands, twirling in a circle, arms outstretched. “And just imagine,  you’ve wandered right into this magical mystery land just full of them.” She flounces back over to him. “Am I going to finally get to actually tell you something about these beauties?”

“No, I couldn’t afford one anyway,” he says sadly. “You’re not the only one with massive debt.”

She opens her mouth to tell him about their installment plan --  _ just six easy payments! _ \-- but then realizes that if Fitz buys a good mattress and gets a proper night’s sleep he might not need to nap at lunchtime anymore. He might stop coming into the store.

So she says nothing at first. A few days pass, a full week, and she’s still not told him. But he comes in every day with bags under his eyes and a sigh in his voice and even though he seems to light up and stand a little straighter when he sees her through the storefront windows, she can’t help but want him to be well-rested, even if it means he’ll stop visiting her.

“Fitz, I have to talk to you,” she blurts out the second he steps in one Thursday morning.

He looks positively alarmed. “Are you dying?”

“ _ No _ , certainly not -- at least, no more quickly than any other healthy 27-year-old Caucasian female -- but -- well, Fitz, I’ve been lying to you. You could easily have purchased a mattress, even with your debt, I just didn’t want you to stop coming -- We have this thing called a payment plan, where you don’t pay all at once-- Why are you smiling?!”

He chuckles and cracks his neck exaggeratedly. “Well, at least I finally know who to blame for the crick in my neck. Though the purveyor of my previous mattress might be irritated by the deluge of complaint letters I’ve been sending them--”

“What can I do to make it better?” she asks nervously.

“A massage would be a good start.”

She raises her eyebrows and he backpedals, blushing.

“Not -- not like  _ that _ \--”

“I’m not opposed to the idea,” she cuts in, and he blinks at her, shocked. “But -- what do you say we start with dinner and see where it goes?”

“Dinner,” he repeats, unable to contain the thrilled little grin splitting his face. “Brilliant.” 


End file.
